


Shiver Me Timbers

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Peter Pan (2003), Primeval
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-18
Updated: 2009-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:45:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen and Ryan investigate a time anomaly and find themselves all at sea...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver Me Timbers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJs 2009 Pirate Phiclet Phest (and Talk Like A Pirate Day)

# Shiver Me Timbers

"Y'know," said Ryan, contemplating the fractured swirl of light at the end of the pier, "It would be really great if we had some way of predicting these damn things. Then we could get the whole team and all our gear on site before the shit hits the fan."

"Connor's working on it." Stephen pulled up the lid of the storage box which was the only object on this end of the pier, scowled at the tangle of ropes and nets revealed, and slammed it shut. "Nothing," he fumed. "At least, nothing that will make any impression on _that._

_That_ was an enraged specimen of deinosuchus which had emerged some ten minutes previously from the anomaly, and, understandably annoyed at being removed from its proper habitat in the late Cretaceous period, had smashed its way through the landward end of the pier and was now chomping on the ends of the shattered timbers, its beady eyes fixed on the two stranded men.

The day had started off so promisingly too. Stephen had (rather neatly he thought) persuaded Lester that the team needed a proper headquarters; they could hardly continue to work out of the Home Office in London and CMU in the Midlands forever, and Claudia had shortlisted a number of Government owned properties which the team were checking out. This country house and private beach on the coast of Devon was secluded enough for even Ryan's security paranoia to be satisfied, and with grounds large enough for Abby to keep a whole herd of velociraptors, should she feel the need. They had spent the morning checking out the house – including the four-poster bed in the master bedroom – and had come down to the beach to check the boathouse and pier for fishing potential when an anomaly had opened up right at the end of the jetty and something that looked like nothing so much as an enormous crocodile had emerged.

And now the beast was advancing on them.

"Er, Doctor Hart," Ryan said, carefully. "Should that animal be... ticking?"

Stephen frowned. "I don't know. I mean, before the anomalies started appearing we had no idea what these creatures sounded like. There's no reason why a deinosuchus shouldn't tick."

Ryan shook his head. Stephen was very intelligent, in his limited field, but some things were outside his field. He could think of one very good reason why a giant crocodile might tick. And he didn't like the implications of his conjecture. However, the beast was still advancing on them, and he took one look at that gaping maw, easily big enough to swallow a man whole, grabbed Stephen's arm, and yanked them both off the end of the pier and into the anomaly.

"Ahoy, me hearties! And what manner o' men be ye, me lads?"

Stephen had been expecting a Cretaceous swamp. What met his astonished gaze was a pair of high-heeled, wide-topped 17C sea boots. He looked up, into a smile that was as wide, and very nearly as intimidating, as the deinosuchus'. Behind the man he could see the topmast of a period sailing ship and, whipping in the stiff breeze, the unmistakable skull and crossed bones on a black field of the traditional pirate flag.

His mind tried to decide between "Oh shit" and "What the fuck". What came out of his mouth was "Oh... fuck."

A hand grabbed the back of his collar and hauled him to his feet. The cold steel of a wickedly sharp hook tilted his chin up, forcing him to close his mouth. Which was probably a good thing.

"Tut tut. Such language. Not in front of the children."

"W... where am I?"

"I must apologise for my friend." Ryan's voice was reassuringly close and familiar, if the tone and the words weren't. "He's not very good at seeing the obvious." He nudged Stephen with a sharp elbow. "We're on a pirate ship, you fool."

"_The_ pirate ship." The Captain (he had to be the Captain, no one else could possibly have carried off that outfit without being laughed off the poop-deck), made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the ship from stem to stern, crows-nest to keel, starb'rd to larb'rd. "Welcome, ye lubbers, to the _Jolly Roger_, the finest privateer ever to sail the seven seas." He leaned over Stephen, examining him with curiousity. "An what manner o' magic was it brought ye yon?"

Stephen glanced at Ryan, who seemed to be much better at this piratespeak. Maybe they taught it at Hereford, alongside Russian and Arabic.

Ryan shrugged. "Search me. He's the scientist. I was just trying to escape the giant ticking crocodile."

A look of absolute terror crossed the pirate Captain's features. "An' what giant ticking crocodile would that be, then?"

Ryan pointed.

A moment later he and Stephen were the only men aboard the ship. As the sounds of frantic rowing and the pursuing ticking receded into the distance he turned to his partner. "Well," he said, "While we're waiting for an anomaly back to Devon d'you fancy a jolly roger?"

Stephen nodded.

 

Not Quite The End?


End file.
